


Whispers In The Dark

by BitterSongofGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Crack!Pairings - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Triwizard Tournament, some underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterSongofGrace/pseuds/BitterSongofGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never let it be said that Voldemort is not a merciful Lord. Even he allows the whispers in the dark. SLASH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Half

**Author's Note:**

> So, a few things completely different. Instead of using Harry to become human again, Voldemort finds some way to do it before the beginning of Harry's fourth year. Also, pairings may be added. Irregular updates.

**Prologue**

 

**S** omewhere, deep within the towers of a long-forgotten castle, a fire flickered in a decrepit chimney. Placed in front of the fireplace was a massive chair of hard oak, large and great enough to be called a throne of sorts, with a uniquely colored carpet lying beneath it. The plush segment reflected a deep crimson, contrasting with the molding stone that it unsuccessfully tried to hide and almost matching the color of the eyes belonging to the man sitting in the decorative seat. He was staring into nothing, face shadowed and a goblet of wine hanging from his hand.

He could only be Lord Voldemort.

Handsome with thick, black hair to the nape of his neck and high cheekbones, he looked how Harry unconsciously expected. Yet, despite his attractive features, the impressive wizard looked the same as he had all the other times. His eyes were sullen, and his body was held uncaringly, as if he were bored. This Harry noticed even in the young Tom Riddle; the apparition had seemed to want nothing more than to amuse himself.

Startling, the Dark Lord snapped from his gazing into the flames and switched to look directly at Harry, whom was standing to the side and hardly visible in the precipice of the room's darkness.

Red eyes grew angry, slightly frightening Harry, as the form swamped in black robes rose slowly. Voldemort's true height was perhaps even more intimidating to Harry than the heated eyes -although that was sure to happen with many men compared to Harry's own short stature-, and the Dark Lord's face twisted in fury.

" _Get out!_ " came in a thunderous roar.

Suddenly, Harry felt the air around him swirl and the image before him blur. He had the feeling of being pushed through a hole far smaller than himself, which was quite a scary sensation, before pure blackness. A loud locking noise resounded in the visionless void, before even that place faded.

Green eyes fluttered open, and Harry wondered what exactly had just happened in his dream.


	2. One

**Chapter One**

 

**H** arry's scar was stinging, and he instantly knew there was little chance of him falling back asleep.

Not that he would want to, not when another glimpse into the Dark Lord's mind was eminent. Still he moaned, sure that he'd be sleeping through classes tomorrow.

These thoughts had Harry turning to his side. Maybe he was a little confused about what he was feeling and what he should be feeling, but honestly? Harry huffed, not caring. He felt his heart reaching for something, looking for an emotion he could not justify. A weird feeling if he did say so himself.

He shook his head, hating the ache. What did it take to get a little bit of distraction? This was Hogwarts for Merlin's sakes!

That's when Harry caught sight of a dim light framing the edges of the crimson curtains attached to the bed across from his, and his ears suddenly perked at a low sound. It was continuous, buzzing like a bee and echoing as if the dorm was a cavern.

"Neville?" Harry called softly, mystified as to why _Neville_ of all people would be awake. He slept even more than Ron, requiring at least more than the recommended amount. And that blasted _noise_!

"Neville!"

Harry heard quick and haste movements, shuffling papers and clanging jars, before the buzz stopped as quickly as it started. Hesitantly, a chubby, but slightly cute, face peeked between lit drapes, eyes surprised. There was no space around Neville to see onto his bed, and those blue eyes seemed glassy with guilt.

' _Oh no, definitely not suspicious_ ,' Harry thought sarcastically.

He slipped from his sheets and stood in front of the boy.

"And what has you awake at-" Harry left his words hanging, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "Actually, _what_ time is it?"

"Um, u-uh.. Three-something, I think," stuttered Neville.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling weary on top of everything else. Wasn't that just the cherry on his cake? That meant even more sleepless hours than he had thought.

Not that it was unexpected, with fate hating him and all that shit.

The young Longbottom nodded, relaxing a bit. "Y-yeah. Gonna get some sleep b-before Potions tomorrow. Night Harry," the slightly taller boy (even when on his knees on his bed versus Harry standing) said quickly, swiftly pulling back to become one with his dreaming covers.

"Yeah," Harry replied, eyes narrowed at the rippled curtains.

He sighed, slumping his back against the bedpost and running his hand down his face. What was he thinking? Was he so frustrated and tired of everything that he would suspect the kindest boy of their year to do something suspicious? _Ridiculous_. At worst, Neville was just jacking off.

Harry grinned at that thought. Leave it to Neville Longbottom to come by use of bees and plants. He shook his head, smirking. It was always the shy ones.

Then his scar for no particular reason stung the slightest bit, tearing Harry from his musings. It wasn't near as bad as when he was in his first year, but still. The thing quickly put a damper on his already moderately depressed mood.

As Harry slowly got back into his bed, he thought of the blasted thing; that unwanted sign of his unnecessary fame. Perhaps Harry should use Remus' advice. He pictured the werewolf's kind face, smiling at him serenely.

_Lay and Relax. Let your mind wonder over whatever it so likes. Just think. Meditate as long as you'd so like if you find yourself awake during the night, Harry._

So, Harry tried.

After the regular spells were cast, Harry brought his knees towards his chest and circled them with his arms. He closed his eyes and just let himself _breathe_.

He had long decided his scar was what connected his and Voldemort's minds. What else could it have possibly been? The Dark Lord had left only one thing the night of his demise, and that was the mar on Harry's forehead. The thought was bittersweet though, the scar being a source of love and hate for Harry.

Dumbledore had told Harry that his mother had protected him that night, and if the old man was to be believed, then his parents loved him so much more than Harry could have expected, and Harry would always remember that. The scar reminded him of his parents' love even more than it did Voldemort.

But of course, he still hated the problems it brought him. Harry despised the attention it gave him and the visions it showed him. Honestly though, he was still quite curious.

How did it connect their minds? What made the dreams possible? Those were the questions Hermione focused on at the moment. Harry didn't care too much to those answers, not if he could find a way to stop the sleepless nights.

When Harry had confided in Hermione on the Hogwart's Express two weeks ago, he remembered having a complete breakdown. He hadn't slept in _weeks_ , and he was all around frustrated, so as soon as Ron left for sweets from the trolley Harry had burst into tears. He explained everything, looking the very definition of distraught. They did tell Ron after the fact, but Hermione was the main brain in thinking of solutions.

As she thought through the situation with a steady mind, Hermione agreed on the connection being the scar.

'It only makes sense,' she said. 'Harry's problems are in the mental magic.'

Hermione explained how the mentality of a wizard was almost as important as the core of the wizard, breaching separate boundaries of magical science. Unfortunately, importance did not matter to most researchers in that field, resulting in limited progress. This landed them in an entirely different matter than they originally thought. Harry would have to discover how to seal the mental connection of his own strength, or otherwise continue to see in Voldemort's mind.

Therefore, Occlumency was the only solution.

The problem? Harry could never learn it by himself.

He had spent several hours in the library looking up how to learn the mind craft, as he had never heard of the art before Hermione had mentioned it. That's when he realized that he needed an instructor.

And there came problem number two.

It was odd, perhaps completely mental on Harry's part, but he refused to ask Dumbledore for help.

Even more strange was _why_ he didn't want to. The reason was simple, yet psychotic.

..Harry really didn't want anyone to know that Voldemort had his body back.

 

**O-O**

 

"Harry! What took you so long?" Ron asked the barely awake boy that yawned at the bottom of the stairs, tie askew and hair mussed. He mumbled through his fringe, and shuffled to the Weasley's side. Well, he thought he mumbled something. Maybe he didn't?

Merlin, he was tired.

Ron elbowed him in his rib cage. "Are you ready for tomorrow?" The ginger's voice just barely suppressed all of his excitement.

"Sheesh, watch your pointy bones!" Harry made a show of rubbing his side. "What do you mean tomorrow?"

Ron elbowed him again, saying, "You're one to talk Mr. Bag-of-pointy-bones. And-"

"-And it's only the best day Hogwart's will ever see. Yes, we know Ron. It's only been talked about a million times," quipped Hermione, who slipped between the pair. The trio then began walking simultaneously, not even missing a beat.

Ron's ears burned. "He's my idol; perhaps I'll even be able to meet him."

Harry shook his head. "I still have no earthly clue what you two are talking about."

Ron and Hermione shared a look, before stopping. "The arrival of the other two schools Harry. For the tournament."

"Yeah mate, where have you _been_ these past two weeks? Durmstrang and Beauxbaton's arrive early tomorrow morning!" Ron exclaimed, his giddiness bubbling over.

"Oh," Harry said dumbly.

They began walking again, and as they laughed over Ron's 'crush' on Vicktor Krum (they as in Harry and Hermione), Harry swatted at an irritating fly. This reminded him of what he was going to ask.

"Hermione, do you have any sort of project due in Herbology?"

The brunette replied with a strange sideways glance. "Why in Hades are you asking about _school work_ , Harry? Let alone a class that you aren't even taking?"

Ron snickered. "She's right. That's quite strange for you."

Harry pouted and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Not fair, you guys."

' _Neither is that look.'_

He jumped, whipping his head from side to side. He knew that voice!

"Harry? Seriously, why are you asking?" Hermione paused. "..Harry?"

Harry hesitantly lowered his guard. _What_ was he possibly _thinking_?

"Ah, um, Neville was up last night. 'Till three doing something with jars and some sort of insect. Just wanted to know if it was an assignment or something." He still glanced from one corner to another, uneasiness creeping up his spine.

"Well, no, there isn't any project due for professor Sprout. Although, this _is_ Neville. I wouldn't doubt he's experimenting on his own," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Harry hesitantly nodded. "True..."

Ron's stomach seized the moment to growl, earning questioning looks from Harry and Hermione. Ron flushed and grinned, turning to walk down the path that would inevitably lead them to the Great Hall.

 

**O-O**

 

Hours passed and dusk finally arrived, becoming more pronounced through a grand, stone sill at the tip of an avoided tower and painting the blue canvas with hues of orange and pink clouds. The sun was setting upon the horizon, closing a day of confusion and reaping a night of impending fates.

The world was changing before everyone's eyes, all that everyone knew becoming distorted and without form.

Draco Malfoy knew this unconsciously as a formal letter, signed _Lucius Malfoy_ , slipped from his pale, trembling hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hope you enjoy! Again, probably irregular updates, and I apologize for that. If Tom/Harry is more your style, *shameless input here* check out my other story Eyes. It's my baby, and I'd love any comments.   
> Also, in between new chapters of WITD and Eyes, I've started a gender-bend Tom/Harry one-shot, in which both are female. I was just curious as to if anyone would be interested in reading it. It's going to be about competitive dancing, and since I don't know too much in dancing terms, I was also wondering if anyone who knows those terms better would be interested being a one-time beta for me and that story. Anyways, no big deal! Just shoot me a message if anyone is interested.
> 
> Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bringing this over from my FF.net account (BitterSongOfGrace). I've neglected this work over the years, so hopefully new content will be better than this prologue and the following chapter. Hope you enjoy!


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